


Lord

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16809733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Nobody fed Ravus.





	Lord

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Any calls him PRINCE Ravus And I'm open to the whole gamut of emotions/reactions that might elicit.” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11322170#cmt11322170).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Being in the heart of Insomnia is galling, and Ravus hates his quarters in the Citadel for all they represent—how _open_ and _rich_ they are, when his own room back ‘home’ feels like a prison. Worst of all, he finds two guards stationed outside when he exits in the morning. They’re both from the Empire— _his own forces_ —and he knows that if he asked, the emperor would croak out that they were there for his protection. But Ravus is old enough now to know the truth; they’re there to report all his comings and goings, because his new ‘allies’ will never fully trust him. They’re only marginally better than the Lucians, who don’t even have the courtesy to bring him breakfast. He’s sure the emperor and chancellor are enjoying a grand feast with the king, while he’s left out of everything important.

He doesn’t say a word to the guards he passes, because he’s too busy fuming inside. He storms down the empty hall, just waiting for a maid or official to drill about where the kitchens are, but he finds no one on his way through the towering corridors. He vaguely remembers where the elevator is and starts his way there, figuring that someone in the lobby will _have_ to aid him.

He rounds the next corner and has to take a quick step back to avoid the sudden oncoming traffic—a younger man almost walks right into him.

Reeling back, the trim blond turns big blue eyes on him, wide open with clear recognition. The man’s plush lips part, his freckled cheeks staining a light pink. Dressed in practically painted-on skinny jeans and a sleeveless black top, he looks like a local commoner, though his fair colouring screams _Nif_. He certainly didn’t come with the Emperor’s party, here to negotiate a peace treaty that still makes Ravus laugh to think about. He’s not dressed like staff. But he is rather attractive—lithe and young and distinctly _pretty_ ; perhaps he’s just slipped out of another dignitary’s quarters after spending the night.

Ravus is about to bark at the blond to get out of his sight when the man straightens swiftly up, bows all the way from the waist, and splutters, “Good morning, Prince Ravus!”

Ravus freezes. A whirlwind of emotion jerks through him, ripping away all response—he hasn’t been called that in _years_. His title’s long since been stripped from him, along with his lands and dignity, and few servants left dare address him that way even in whispers. The bitter melancholy is thick in his throat. A sliver of gratified delight still slithers through him—it feels good to be addressed the way he _should be_. Too good. It’s a long minute before Ravus can even muster up the hollow question: “Where did you hear that?”

Still bent forward, the blond risks a peek up. When Ravus just continues staring at him, too shocked to either melt or glare, the blond slowly rises again. He replies, “The title? Noct—er, Prince Noctis said... uh, should I even be talking to other princes?” Shifting onto the other foot, the man twitches uncomfortably. “Uh, sorry, I don’t really know the protocol—” Except that he’s apparently on a first name basis with Noctis. “Uh, I should go. You’ve probably got important royal stuff to do. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair—”

Ravus tries to step aside, wanting to allow the pitiful commoner the chance to flee, except that the blond steps aside at the same time, putting both of them directly in front of one another again. Ravus steps back the other way, and the blond follows, looking increasingly more horrified. 

He doesn’t try a third time. Ravus doesn’t shoo him away, but eyes him up for a moment, because it _is_ a mystery—with those pure yellow locks, he couldn’t possibly be entirely from Lucis. His eyes are too big, his complexion too pink. And more than that, what the hell is a commoner of any origin doing on one of the top floors of the Citadel? Ravus demands an answer: “How do you know Noctis?”

At the name, the blond perks up. A bright smile replaces his awkward frown, and he happily reports, “Oh, we’re best friends.” Then he thrusts a hand forward and adds, “I’m Prompto, by the way.” But a second later he blushes darker and drops that hand, which is just as well, because Ravus wasn’t going to shake it.

Now Ravus is annoyed for a whole new set of reasons. Of _course_ Noctis would have a bunch of commoner rats running about the Citadel. He cares about everyone except the very people he was supposed to care about most. And Ravus knows he’s still writing Lunafreya in that stupid journal, leading her on, when he’s probably also screwing this blond right under everybody’s nose. 

Rife with sarcasm, Ravus grunts, “Of course. Noctis seems to have so many _friends._ ”

“Aw,” Prompto mumbles, dipping into a look of sympathy, clearly misunderstanding Ravus’ meaning. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got lots of people here who are happy for your visit too.” Before Ravus can snap at that, Prompto cheerily throws in, “Hey, I’ve got some time—I can show you around if you want. Have you seen the gardens yet? Er, or is that super inappropriate? Uh, sorry...”

The guy’s a total rollercoaster. Ravus just sort of _stares_ at him, and Prompto just fidgets, the hope slowly dying out of his eyes.

Ravus has no interest in taking Noctis’ sloppy seconds, either in the sexual tryst or mismatched friendship department. On the other hand, Ravus is quite sure that not a single person in the Citadel is at all happy to see him, as none of them have shown him half as much genuine courtesy as this one jovial commoner. 

And then there’s the fact that he’s getting hungrier by the second, and his options are limited. 

He tells himself that’s the only reason he nods. It has nothing to do with Prompto’s cute face. He even adds in that this could be strategic: a great way to gather intelligence on the man who might marry his sister. This Prompto looks like he has a tongue as loose as his morals. 

Ravus finally grunts, “Very well. Show me to the kitchens.”

Prompto grins and chirps, “Sure thing, Your Highness,” then turns to lead the way.


End file.
